Why is Linsanity My Favorite Sports Story of All Time?

If Jeremy Lin had been around to Linspire me, this picture may have contained a hardwood floor, some high tops, and maybe even a ball of some sort.

If you're like me, an Asian American from the Bay Area who attended a decent school, broke his ankle in high school, and went undrafted by the NBA, you can easily relate to the Jeremy Lin story. If you're not, apparently you can still follow the story just as closely. I've been fascinated by how the nation--nay, the world--has reacted to the Taiwanese-American who attended Harvard and rode the bench and slept on sofas and then exploded onto largest sports media market in the country by leading a lagging New York basketball franchise back from a horrendous slide. The New York Knicks were 8-15, having lost eleven of their last thirteen game, when Jeremy Lin won his first game with them. Lin helped them win eight of their next ten games, taking out the Lakers and the reigning Champions, the Dallas Mavericks. Sports analysts are now debating which round the Knicks will make it to in the playoffs.

This is my favorite sports story line since watching Hoosiers, and a movie script will certainly be written about Jeremy Lin. (I sincerely hope they come up with a better title than "Linsanity!") However, you can't beat watching the story develop in real time in real life. They story is compelling because it is a true underdog story that transcends basketball and makes the improbable seem plausible.

What makes Jeremy Lin a Classic Underdog Story?

At its heart, this is an underdog story, which is why it's so captivating. But what makes an underdog? I can think of four common elements to the underdog story: overcoming Linsurmountable odds (yes, you will find an easy pun here and there--it's Linevitable), achieving success (often of a non-traditional flavor), having a relate-able and humble protagonist, and challenging the idea that an athlete should fit a specific mold. Not all great sports stories have all four elements, but the Jeremy Lin story does.

The first element is overcoming long odds, which requires perseverance in the face of great adversity. Just getting to the NBA, let alone turning around a team, is improbable enough for an individual. Lin's chance to prove himself was an unlikely event because he was not recruited, drafted, or retained by two teams. In the section below, I go into much more detail about how a confluence of many events created a perfect atmosphere for the Lin story. The only events that could have made it more compelling are if A) he had survived a life threatening medical procedure, B) risen out of abject squalor, C) won a battle with addiction and/or old age, or D) all of the above. The bottom line is that Lin had to wait for his chance and was close to giving up on his dream of playing in the NBA. Luckily, he stuck with it, and it's worked out pretty well for all of us so far.

The second element of the underdog story is success, often with a modified definition. Rudy never led his team to a National Title; Billy Beane didn't win the World Series; the Jamaican Olympic Bobsled Team failed to win gold. They were all stories of success though. Jeremy Lin doesn't have to carry his team to a Championship. In the past two weeks, he's already achieved success, which was the turnaround of the Knicks, the rejuvenation of a franchise and a city's basketball hopes, and making regular people care about the regular season of the NBA. Sure, we may hope he takes the Knicks all the way and wins a bunch of rings, but it almost doesn't matter because he's already won us over.

The third element of the underdog story is a protagonist with whom people can identify. Sports fans want athletes who share something with them. It's why you root for the home team or your country of origin. People want want to see a team full of people like them win. While it may be an absurd connection, it's a connection that creates an emotional investment in the game. That's why Christians root for Tebow, upstate New Yorkers root for Jimmer Fredette, and alumni root for athletes from their schools. Of course, if the athlete is exceptional, it makes it easier to root for him or her.

As I alluded to at the beginning of this post, I have a lot of things in common with Jeremy Lin, which makes it very easy for me to root for him. I'm Asian American, grew up in the Bay Area, tried out for my high school basketball team, got a degree from a decent school, broke my ankle in high school, wear socks, have been to New York City, am male, etc. Heck, Lin was literally playing ball down the street from where I worked while he was in high school. I probably drove by him on my way home. It's easy for me to see him as a better, more successful version of me, which makes it very easy for me to hope he does well. But what about everybody else? I think people are drawn to his struggle and success, but beyond that, I'm not really sure what makes him relate-able to everybody else. Do they like his humility? Maybe they are drawn to the simple fact that he was unlikely to make it so far and be so successful. Or maybe they like him because he defies their expectations of what a pro baller should look like.

The fourth element of an underdog story is that the underdog challenges people's expectations. Football players should be big; small towns, schools, or budgets should not be able to field enough talent to win a championship; tropical countries should not be able to compete in the Winter Olympics. Basketball players are usually tall, black, maybe white, and not Ivy League graduates. Jeremy Lin isn't short, but he's also a minority on the court in the way he looks and the academic path he took. To me, his race is a big part of this story. I think if all things were the same but he were black, he wouldn't have hit the news cycle as big. I think if he were white, it would have been a slightly bigger story, but not as big as if he were Asian. We expect black players to dominate the league.

Lin's race is the most apparent way he defies what we expect NBA players to be, and it makes him easier to follow on the court. Of course, he had to have some skills and help his team win a lot; those are the minimum requirements of this story line. The fact remains that we have not seen an Asian American of Chinese or Taiwanese descent in the league, which makes Jeremy Lin a novelty of sorts. I think he gives Asian American kids a great role model, and if he had been around when I was in high school, I may have chosen a different sport. I'm not saying I'd be in the NBA right now (though it's pretty likely), but I definitely would have tried harder to get into Harvard undergrad. Lin is obviously a pretty good player, but the fact that he is forcing all of us to reevaluate our notion of who can be a good player is an element of the story that most of us find appealing. He even inspired SNL to make a moderately funny skit about race--I know, shocking.

A Perfect Storm Provides a Perfect Chance

Back to the first element of the underdog story: overcoming long odds. The likeliness of Jeremy Lin playing, let alone starting, for the Knicks was so Linfinitesimal that I would have given you 10:1 odds that on Rudy was more likely to wear a Notre Dame jersey. I would also have bet on Seabiscuit, the 1980 US Olympic Hockey Team, Rocky Balboa, Hickory high school basketball, the cash-strapped Oakland A's, the South African rugby team, and the Jamaican Olympic bobsled team before I bet on Jeremy Lin to start. If you can get all those sports movie references, I'll buy you some Lingonberry jam at IKEA next time we're there together. That's not a pun, it's a real thing.

First of all, neither of Lin's parents were over 5'6", but he's 6'3". According to the myeh source of Wikipedia (which a lot of this Lin history is from--this is a blog, what do you expect?), the average height of an NBA point guard is 6'1", and they are the shortest players on the court. Lin was lucky that his maternal side had some height and he was fed enough to have it realized. Then this kid grew up in the Bay Area, which we all know is a huge disadvantage. If you hadn't noticed, those of us who grew up in the Bay Area are intelligent, athletic, charming, emotionally stable, virile, considerate, sensitive, creative, trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, and most of all, very, very humble. Huh, I guess it's not a disadvantage. Anyway, Lin played good basketball in high school but did not receive any scholarship offers from colleges. He decided to go to Harvard, which is like the Stanford of the east for those of you who have not heard of it. Harvard now has a total of THREE players EVER who played in the NBA, according to ESPN, the last of which played in 1954. After that, Lin was not considered desirable enough to be drafted by the NBA, but after some workouts with some teams, he received some offers to ride suit up and ride some pine.

He went to Golden State, where he was third string behind a player who was runner-up for Rookie of the Year the previous year and a second player who was so good that he was drafted out of high school. Three times that season, he was sent to the NBA minor leagues, where he improved, and was then called back up. Enter the NBA lockout, where the current season was threatened by players and owners wanting more money from each other. The result was that basketball leagues in other countries started looking at the US players to recruit. Lin was close to signing a deal days before the lockout ended on November 26, 2011.

Lin got dumped onto the waiver wires by the Warriors on December 9, where the Rockets picked him up on December 12, only to later put him back on the waiver wire for the Knicks to grab him on December 27. Some sportscasters mention that the Rockets were only forced to do this because the NBA commissioner made an unpopular decision to block a trade that would have sent two of the guards above Lin on the depth chart somewhere else. I'm not convinced the dates work out, but it adds to the story if true. In New York, he slept on his brother's couch then his teammate's couch as he was also buried on the depth chart behind two point guards who I think were only playing because the two guards ahead of them were injured. He only got a chance to play because the Knicks were playing so poorly against the Celtics and the coach decided to give him a chance.

So, about three months ago, Lin was looking to sign with another team on another continent. In the last two months and change, he's been on the payroll of three teams. One month ago, he was buried behind two to four other guards.

Everything in life fell into place for Lin to end up in New York, which is a key place in the story. New York City has the largest TV market in the country. It also has at least two teams nearby for each of the four major sports (Giants, Jets, Yankees, Mets, Knicks, Nets, Rangers, Islanders--I guess hockey missed the memo to have a team that ends with "ets"). I'm not sure most New Yorkers care about regular seasons of sports unless its football (even then, I'm not sure they really, really care like Detroit or Cleveland or Chicago fans--cities put upon by championship droughts/dearths). But sports are prevalent in New York, meaning New York is the place where a story like this is most likely to make headlines and make them fast. Also playing into this story is the fact that the NBA lockout led to a shorter, more compact season in which games are played more frequently. The result is an accelerated news cycle where people don't have to wait as long between games to see how Jeremy Lin does in his next game.

Let's not ignore the timing of the story as it fell into the news cycle either. February is super boring for the sports fan. The Super Bowl early in the month is the end of substantial football talk, pro or college, until the draft in April. You've got hockey, college hoops, and hockey steadily working towards their playoffs and March Madness, but those seasons are so long, they are hard to follow closely until the playoffs. No tennis or golf majors in February. The interminable baseball season hasn't even begun. The Super Bowl was on February 5. Jeremy Lin made his first mark on February 4 when he dropped 25 points on the Nets in a win. He only saw substantial minutes in this game because a fellow player suggested to the coach to let Lin play. Lin started for the Knicks in a win on the 6th, and won his third game on the 8th. At that point, it was the considered a trend. The timing in sports news cycles could not have been much better. It didn't hurt that the story followed Tebow mania, which elicited a lot of comparisons (most of which are unwarranted in my opinion).

The bottom line is that Lin took an incredibly low-probability, nontraditional path to play in the NBA. Through a series of unlikely events that broke his way, he persevered to make the most of his one big shot and become the sensation he has humbly embraced. He could have thrown in the towel, but he didn't and now a lot of people are talking about him and cheering him. Like all underdogs, he inspires people to stick out the bad times because things could work out in the end. I guess you don't have to be like me to relate to Lin.

Why is "Fantasy" Football not a dream come true?

My best score of the season. The team name is because every team I root for loses.

Fantasy Football provides an immediate topic of bonding between males through the sharing of virtual war stories: "Yeah, then Vick got concussed, Jackson's ankle got jacked, and with the whole front line of the Chiefs decimated . . . My whole team was wiped out." I finished my first season of Fantasy Football last week, but I was left wondering where the "Fantasy" part was. I ended up sixth in my league (out of eight), and that was after pulling a Tebow the last week: the clouds parted and three miracles occurred simultaneously. Even though I was ecstatic to make the playoffs by the flukiest of flukes, that moment of elation could not counterbalance all the psychic pain that plagued me the rest of the season. Sure, Notre Dame dashes my hopes every year, but it doesn't gallivant around under the optimistic name of Fantasy Football, which I thought meant that everybody would have their wildest dreams realized. I am left feeling that Fantasy Football is as far from fantasy as one could possible dream.

First of all, let's admire the name brand of Fantasy Football, which appeals to two primal urges of men. The first part of the phrase is "Fantasy", which connotes sex. Ask a guy what comes to mind when he hears the word, and I bet the top three answers are sex (<--you really want to click on this, don't you), football, and sex--and football is probably actually third on that list. Of course, one could argue that those are the first things that come to mind in response to any question put to a guy. The second part of the phrase, "Football", connotes violence--along with beer, greasy food, glory, and scantily clad cheerleaders (<--this one, too I bet). I don't know a better phrase for getting a man's attention. Maybe something called "Strippers, Cars, and First Person Shooters on XBox 360", but that certainly lacks the subtlety of "Fantasy Football". I will concede that "Fantasy" in Fantasy Football doesn't directly refer to sex, so I will use the definition "unrestrained imagination" for the rest of this post.

The season begins with the creation of a roster that is almost never the product of unrestrained imagination. During the draft process, each participant chooses NFL players for his (or her but mostly his) team. Each player can be picked once, leading to a roster that is far from ideal. I would bet that many people end up with a roster that they kind of hate right after the draft. (I didn't, but that's because I had no idea what I was doing.) So right away, you end up with something that is very restrained by reality. It is so restrained that you often curse your good friends for picking the player you wanted. While that pain is somewhat alleviated when you mock them for their idiocy on their next pick, your roster is never the one you dreamed you'd get.

As the season progresses, there are many points when excruciating psychic pain visits almost all participants. It may originate in a close loss or the loss of a key player to injury or personality. It may come from the realization that you have once again squandered money that could have been spent on real fantasies or real football. Whatever the reason, psychic pain is rarely associated with fantasy. (Maybe other types of pain, but let's focus here.) I, for one, certainly don't happily daydream about how my monstrous lead on Monday morning could be lost at the last second on Monday night by a blocked field goal. Ouch, it hurt just to write that sentence.

Fantasy Football also requires an average participant to spend an inordinate amount of time hunched over his computer managing his team. While one could argue that there are worse things to be doing on the internet, it's difficult to argue that an average person dreams of pouring over thousands of numbers and deciding whether Jason Wittens's 0.32 predicted point advantage is worth starting him over Tony Gonzalez. (The answer was yes a couple of weeks ago.) If staring at a computer screen for unpaid hours on end is part of anybody's dream world, well, you are a freak (said the somewhat aspiring writer).

Unless you made your entire roster members of the team you root for, then you will probably be forced to root against your own team. If part of your dream is hoping that something you love fails--sick, just sick. You may try to delude yourself and say you're not rooting against the team but the individual, but you are a liar. If you are rooting against any part of your team, you are not completely rooting for its success. And if that is not causing you pain in your heart and your loins, you have truly lost your soul to Fantasy Football and are less of a man. I cannot respect you, and you are probably going to burn in the first four letters of my last name. Sorry--you scumbag. Anyway, rooting against your own team is not fantasy material.

Finally, the season never ends in an ideal manner. The ideal season culminates in winning the Championship and taking all your friends' money, providing you beer money and bragging rights for an entire year. The reality is that odds are very high that you won't win the Championship given the number of teams in a league and will thus lose all your money and dignity. Any table in Vegas is a safer bet. In a nutshell, you are almost certainly doomed to failure. If this is the scenario that your unrestrained imagination has created, you have set the bar extremely low. But congrats on your dream coming true.

Sadly, Fantasy Football is completely restrained by reality, from choosing a roster to not winning the Championship. Psychic pain and financial losses are much more common than earning bragging rights for the year. Only one person or team in each league will win, just like all sports. But perhaps winning it all is the fantasy to which Fantasy Football refers and which is made all the more fantastic because of its unlikeliness. Perhaps the fantasy is saying that you emerged victorious despite an imperfect roster, injury set backs, and getting Tebowed. That's just like normal football and all sports, which is what makes all of them great and probably why I will continue to play whenever offered the chance despite the name and all the reasons I mentioned here. Because that one chance at living the fantasy is what makes the ride worth every year of hard reality.

Why Pilates this Year?

I’m not making New Year’s Resolutions. Since this year’s “resolutions” are pretty much the same as last year, I’d rather just call them recommitments. Among those recommitments is maintaining what I generously call my physique. Some may say that I would have to establish a decent physical form before maintaining it. To them, I say, “Take your wit and . . . well, you have a good point.”

There were a couple of events that occurred during 2009 that did not help me reach my goal of Herculean strength. First, I played too many video games. I did not curtail my hours of open-mouthed, catatonic staring; this year will be different. Second, I dropped my rock climbing gym membership. That left a void that I have filled with Pilates DVDs. Why Pilates? Well, if you eliminate everything else using my list of criteria, that’s what you’re left with.

When choosing an activity that will shape a graduate student’s body, there are many limitations. 1) It’s got to be cheap because I make less than a kindergarten teacher. 2) It’s best if it can be done at night because lab beckons all day. 3) It has to be relatively safe because I am like fine China: extremely fragile. 4) It cannot be repetitive because I can’t stand doing the same motion over and over—call it mental weakness if you want, all of you bikers, runners, and swimmers; I’m OK with that.

Cheap. High start-up or recurring costs are prohibitive. It is one of the reasons I stopped my climbing gym membership, which cost about $600 per year. This criterion also eliminates golf, biking, skiing, wakeboarding, sky-diving, and most types of classes with any decent instruction.

Convenient. Being in lab all day is optional, but given that I am nearing the end of my grad student life (hopefully), being in lab most of the day is pretty necessary. That means working out has to happen at night if it is going to happen at all. That was one of the appealing characteristics of climbing. I could eat an early dinner and then head to the gym. Of course, there are night leagues, but that brings me to the next criterion.

Safe. I could play football, but if you’ve ever seen a bowling ball fall on a twig . . . I’m the twig. Given my long history of breaking bones, I prefer something with little chance of hospitalization. Activities that are eliminated by this include team sports with any degree of contact: rugby, football, hockey, soccer, tag team wrestling, or baseball (what if the ball hits me?). Yes, you might call me wimpy, girly, or unmanly, but I call it knowing my limits and drawing conclusions based on a large sample size of data (Six broken bones).

Repetitive sports. Finally, anything that is repetitive is just plain boring (and maybe slightly painful) to me. It really makes it difficult for me to start exercising. OK, it also makes it difficult for me to keep going once I have started. And when I’m done, I don’t feel great that I did it. I just feel relieved that I don’t have to do it again for awhile. That means any event in a triathlon, except for the changing of clothes, is something I’d rather avoid. And if changing clothes occurred repeatedly over a thirty minute time span (or four hours), I would probably avoid that part, too.

What I am left with is Pilates DVDs. They fulfill all the criteria. For now, my New Year will begin with cheap, convenient, safe, and non-repetitive Pilates DVDs. I’ll take some pictures in the future so you can see the results. Or not—I don’t want to deter you from reading the blog in the future.

Why are sports so awkward?

Yesterday, I contended that the most awkward motion in sports is the tennis serve. Of course, my girlfriend, who played tennis in high school, disagreed with me. She also played golf in college and offered the golf swing as the most awkward motion.

All this leads me to this post. I’ve got four motions that do not seem to come naturally to a novice. Granted, I am a novice at many sports, tennis included, but I am far from uncoordinated (at least in my mind). Thus, I think I have a pretty good idea of what is painfully unnatural. But feel free to tell me I’m wrong and let me know what you think.

1. Kicking pretty much anything. Yes, the act of throwing your foot at something is a natural motion. However, making sure that the part of your body that will take the brunt of that motion, your foot, is not. Put a soccer ball in front of somebody and their first reaction is to kick it with their toe. With enough force, that results in a broken toe. In soccer, you use the top of your foot or the inside of your foot. In Tae Kwon Do, you have many potential areas on the foot for striking, none of which are your toe: the top, the ball of the foot, the outside edge, or the heel. It’s odd that people use their largest, strongest limbs to hurl a mass with some of their smallest bones at solid objects. Kicking should only be done by experts.

2. Tennis serve / Volleyball spike. I find serving incredibly difficult. Start sideways. Toss a ball to the perfect height over your head. Strike the ball at the maximum height over your head. Hope to high heaven that you don’t ruin your shoulder as you throw your body’s weight behind the racket. A volleyball spike requires a similar strain on your shoulder, but I think there is even more back involved. Arch your back as you jump, and uncoil it as you strike the ball. Snap through. Maybe it’s all timing. Beats me. I’m usually just swinging as hard as possible and praying that I make contact.

3. Golf swing. So many things can go wrong here. I don’t even know where to begin since I can’t do it properly. All I know is that you have to keep your head still and that trying to kill the ball is bad. That hurts the back and causes a crazy slice in my case. Add mumbo jumbo about swing plane, bringing your knees through first, and breaking your wrists and you’ve only just begun talking about what could possibly be wrong. Think it’s like hitting a baseball on the ground? You’re completely wrong. It’s almost the opposite. The lead hand is in charge; no equal contribution like a baseball swing. And keep that rear elbow in, not up. Narrow your stance and minimize any unnecessary motion. There are more technical things to do in golf than any sport I’ve played.

4. Swimming. Do I really have to make an argument for this? Obviously, we were not made for the water. Exhibit A: water can suffocate us to death until we die. Exhibit B: we have hair, which leads to drag. Exhibit C: webbed feet are abnormal in humans. I admit that I am a pretty bad swimmer, and anybody who isn’t a strong one may admit to it being akin to prolonged drowning. When I heard about how water polo players keep their heads above water, I was baffled and got tired just thinking about how it happens. (It’s like egg beaters with your legs.) Calling swimming awkward may be a stretch, but flailing to survive can be awkward—at least socially. But maybe flailing is the most instinctive thing a person can do.

Any more awkward sports motions?

Why would I need help from sticks and stones, Part 2?

When I was 15, I was a week away from taking my driver’s license test. One week and a simple test stood between me and unfettered freedom—at least in my mind. But my body wasn’t quite on board. It had to go get broken, possibly causing life altering teen drama.

That Saturday morning was sunny and breezy: a perfect morning for a spring soccer game. The opponent was a team made up of my friends from my high school team. Twenty one buddies on the same field sounds like a big party to me. The whistle blew and the game was underway.

About midway through the game, I was dribbling up the field. I juked two or three guys as usual (or by accident) and then came up against a guy we’ll call Splevin Spletano to protect his identity. Splevin was probably one of the nicest guys I knew. I approached him doing my patented cross over spin move, aka, looking like a spaz. I’m sure he was afraid of getting burned like kindling or passed like salt or some other clever schoolyard simile.

Whatever he was thinking, the next thing I knew, I was on the ground. As I lay there, I immediately knew I had broken my collar bone. I’m sure there was no malice intended. In fact, I think I actually just didn’t quite get around his leg, which caused me to basically fall like a tree onto my shoulder. He was apologizing profusely before he even knew I had injured myself. Like I said, he was a nice guy.

I eventually got up, gingerly tested my arm, and subbed out. And then it was off to the hospital. The diagnosis was a fractured clavicle. Eight weeks sidelined from soccer and maybe social life.

For some reason the DMV won’t let you take a driving test when you have a broken collar bone. Perhaps, it’s because lifting your hand above 8 o’ clock on the steering wheel hurts like hell.

So, I had to reschedule my driving test. On top of that, my driving permit expired while I was incapacitated, and I couldn’t take the license test without it. Thus, I had to retake my written permit test before taking the driving piece. My freedom was stuck in neutral, seemingly in reverse. Was my teen life over?

If my life had been a movie, events preceding the soccer game would have included an approaching dance and the hottest and purest girl in school. There would have been non-threatening study dates, a quarterback stud competing for her attention, and a plain looking female confidant. The hot girl would attend the dance with me because I could drive her to it in a sweet ride. But now, without my license . . .

After the trip to the hospital, I would have sunken into a deep depression and explained to my wiser, plain-looking but blossoming friend that this broken collar bone had forever changed the course of my life--in a bad way. And then I’d finally fall for her even though she had wanted me since the second grade. Cue music, hand out tissues, roll credits. Or some version of that. That’s if my life were a movie.

But life wasn’t a movie. No dance. No hot girl. No homely turned comely female friend. Not even much of a social life to lament being lost. In retrospect, all that was lost was six to eight weeks of playing soccer and driving a car that was built the year before my current car. But at the time, it seemed like a slightly bigger deal.

The lesson? The lesson that I often forget after a bad day at work is that failures or set-backs seldomly ruin our lives. They usually end up as tiny blips on our life lines, resulting in no change in the overall trajectories. They aren't worth the stress.

After all, a bad day at work beats a broken collar bone. And a broken collar bone isn’t even that bad.

Why is tennis so loud?

I saw Maria Sharapova play Ai Sugiyami of Japan last night. When I think of tennis noises, I usually think of controlled clapping, occasional gasps, and the rhythmic pops of rackets striking the ball. And if the event is in a quiet suburban area like Palo Alto, I expect almost zero background noise. Of course, at a Sharapova match, I would also expect Maria's grunting, but her grunting was the least distracting noise at the Bank of the West Classic. I guess you can't always expect to get what you expect.

First, the train tracks are about half a mile from the stadium, and trains passed at least twice. The rumble wasn't audible, but the horn was. I guess the players can be glad it was a ways away. Considering my expectations, I was a little distracted but not irked.

However, I was a bit concerned when I heard the Stanford "band" practicing. This amalgam of students who think their antics are fair compensation for their lack of skill were practicing a little bit during the match. I give them props for practicing, given that they need all they can get. And they were at least practicing inside, but they were audible from the court. Fortunately, they weren't too loud and didn't practice for long. But I was worried that I would be stuck listening to them at yet another sporting event.

There were also many toddlers at the tennis match. There weren't quite as many as at my family reunions or a daycare, but there were at least three one year olds within ten yards of my seat. And it's great that parents are getting out and doing things. It is. I was just surprised that so many parents took their kids to an event that involves metal bleachers, an expected quietude, and potentially three hours of sitting beginning at 7:30 PM. I don't mind the kids, but I thought the players might.

The biggest distraction was the sporting event--no, not the one I paid for, but the water polo event taking place across the way. This included raucous cheering, shrill whistles, and piercing horns. Every once in awhile, one of these sounds would burst forth from the swimming stadium. I couldn't help but think that Sharapova and Sugiyama would be annoyed by all the external commotion. Then again, they are professionals.

Even though I was often distracted by the many different sounds, the players didn't seem to mind. They were focused and didn't seem to notice the crowd. Sugiyami started out strong and Sharapova, though she seemed to have trouble getting her first in for a bit, crushed the ball and played many a nice drop shot. In the future, I will expect a good game but maybe not library-esque quiet.

Why not have standards in sports?

I will be the first to admit that sports probably get more attention than they merit. I spend more time than I need to reading ESPN, being disappointed by Notre Dame football, filling out my NCAA tourney bracket, watching golf . . . On the flip side, I could be doing worse things than following sports: robbing old ladies, loitering at a convenience store, or doing drugs. However, we are constantly reminded that sports won’t necessarily keep you away from the drugs.

It’s no longer surprising news that Manny Ramirez of the LA Dodgers was suspended for 50 games because he tested positive for steroid use. In fact, the surprise should be that the media still consider drug-using athletes news. It’s starting to have the ring of “slick politicians” or “nerdy scientists” (but maybe those are better grounded in fact). In sports though, it’s too bad a few bad eggs are ruining the game. Leagues need to dump those eggs by having a serious and very strict drug policy.

The rule should be that if you use performance-enhancing drugs, you are out of the league, stripped of any titles you earned, and your records are stricken from the record. This may sound harsh, but the current repercussions are pretty weak. Sitting out for 50 games? Is that a punishment or a vacation? An athlete’s body gets a nice long rest. Sure, he may not get paid, but it’s not like he’s making minimum wage and needs the hours. Even if you fine these guys, that just means they can’t buy a fourth house or 15^th car. Make the punishment real and lasting.

I also say they make drug testing mandatory for every player every year and keep samples for 10 years so that the latest designer drugs can be identified once tests are developed. Too expensive? Make the players pay it. I don’t know what they cost, but they can’t be more than $1000, can they? And what’s that to the pros? Even if these expenses were passed to the fans, I’d pay another nickel a game to make sure the 50 guys on the roster were clean.

Athletes are entertainers, and they are being paid to perform. But so are dancers, singers, and cooking show hosts. The difference is that athletics is a competition between two teams or individuals, and ultimately, I’m paying to see that contest. Of course, if I see a crazy dunk or huge hit, I like that as a fan. But mostly I’m here to see a close, clean game. Don’t gouge eyes, don’t purposely injure opponents, and don’t inject something that gives an edge.

The bottom line is that there is no place in sports for drugs that make you bigger or stronger. It is cheating. They provide an unnatural advantage to the users. Sports are supposed to be a test of natural physical and mental abilities that are honed through hard work. If an athlete wants to smoke pot or booze it up before a game like in the old days and can still hit an insanely fast ball or shuttlecock, I have no problem with that. In fact, that’s all the more impressive. But don’t cheat an opponent and don’t cheat us, the fans.

Why is March Madness?

If you are in a pool for the NCAA Mens Basketball Tournament, especially if you still have a chance at winning it, you know why it's maddening. You feel like a winner, a loser, a genius, an idiot, and a traitor all at once.

For those of you not familiar with the tournament, every year, 65 basketball teams are chosen to play a single elimination tournament to determine the champion. It's simple: a team loses, it's out; it wins, it moves on. Many people enter a pool with friends, which requires that participants guess the result of every game before the tournament even starts. Points are awarded for wins each round, with each round being worth more than the previous one. If the team you picked to win the entire tournament loses the first round, it's out of the tourney and you're probably out of contention in your pool. That can be maddening, but why is March madness?

Winner 

It's madness because expertise doesn't matter. In fact, it's often a hindrance. People might think they know something, but so many games come down to the last second, it's often a crap shoot. And one crucial loss can ruin your bracket. Everybody, and I mean everybody, has a chance. Odds are good that the 16 seed won't beat the 1 seed, but nobody knows what will happen. Don't listen to pundits or go by records either. Crazy things happen during the tournament.

Loser 

It's madness because you can go from first to worst after a single round. Sure, you rocked the first round, but if all your Sweet 16 don't make it out of the second, you're in big loser-y trouble. The team you chose to win it all gets upset in the second round? Even if you picked every other game correctly, don't hold your breath. Odds are that everybody will catch you--and then pass you. Of course, you can also go from worst to first after a round.

Genius 

It's madness because Cinderella can happen any year. Cal State Northridge, University of Texas at Chattanooga, East Tennesee State, Morehead State, North Dakota State, Cleveland State. Don't count them all out before the tourney starts. Any low seed or any team with two adjectives in its name can potentially make it all the way. And if they make it past the first weekend, everybody, despite their bracket, is cheering for them. Bask in the glory if you picked them--even if it was because you had 5 minutes to fill out the entire bracket and accidentally picked them because you thought it was a 3, not a 13, by their name.

Idiot 

It's madness because of the sheer number of games. During the first weekend, Thursday to Sunday, 48 games are played, whittling the field to 16 over the course of four days. The next weekend, 12 games are played to leave the four most worthy teams. It's insane trying to keep track of who plays who, who wins, and what the heck you had in your bracket. Try to watch them all? You could probably learn a foreign language in the time spent watching. Plus, the stress may kill you.

In addition, any game you picked to be an upset that wasn't makes you feel dumb. Of course UNC was going win its region. Stupid me!

Traitor 

It's madness because the team you want to win one round, you desparately want to lose even more the next round. Sure, I'll root for Duke to make it to the Sweet 16, but then I'd really like them to lose so that I get points and a lot of other people get hosed. Michigan State to the Sweet 16? Perfect, but don't ruin my chances by beating any more teams. Cleveland State's upset of 4 seed Wake Forest may cost me some points, but I'm rooting for them after that, even though I need every point I can get. Everybody's a Benedict Arnold.

March is madness because it's hard to believe you could be so many things at once.

Why don't I play dodgeball any more?

Recently, I attended a friend's birthday party at a trampoline warehouse. Imagine 60 trampolines next to each other with the hard parts covered by gymnastic mats. Tilted tramps prevent people from falling onto the concrete, so you have a stadium-type situation. There were three arenas: one where you can just jump around, one with a foam pit, and one with dodgeball. 

Sound pretty fun? It's not bad, but after 10 minutes, you realize you're tired, and that's because you're old. Try a flip? There are simpler things that you probably tried, like jumping off the side tramps, that made you realize that a flip will probably result in an ugly accident in front of a bunch of teens. Your brain feels like it's been shaken loose, your back feels like it was given a deep tissue massage by an amateur masseuse, and your stomach feels like you had some slightly undercooked seafood. What to do? Try the other arenas.

First, the foam pit. The idea is to jump off a trampoline and land in a pool of softness. Take some old foam blocks from the 60's--possibly the 1860's--and dump them in a pit. Throw a bunch of sweaty kids in there night after night. Congratulations, now you know what I decided would be fun to land in: lots of gray foam blocks. People ahead of me had trouble getting out of the pit when they landed on their backs, so I decided to try not to embarass myself. I approached, messed up my jump, and had to restart. My next try was successful. I made it into the pit face first. I'm pretty sure I ate some of the foam. I later asked my friend, an MD, what was the worst thing I could get from eating some. She said there was no need to worry unless some kid pooped in there. That was comforting. What are the odds that a kid as young as 5 soiled himself as he fell out of the sky?

Not wanting to die from eating a stranger's . . . ick, I decided to try dodgeball. I used to be really good when I was in junior high. Here's the situation. You enter an arena, where you are divided into teams by the "ref" (aka 15 year old who thinks he's a badass). You are then let loose to throw balls at the other team. I waited around a bit just to make sure I didn't get out right away. After all, there were about twenty people on each team. I didn't want to get out before the 10 year olds--or get out by a 10 year old. I had my pride to think about. I threw one ball, and hit nobody. 

Then, there were about 7 people left on each team. I scanned the other side to see where people were and where the balls were. This was my chance to shine and get somebody out. I was nervous, but I thought I had an advantage on all these chumps because, when I was 12, I was really, really--a ball out of the corner of my eye. The figure of a sizable black kid following through on his throw. Years of latent reflexes kicking in. I duck! Glory!

Wham! It turns out that I ducked quickly enough to get my face to ball-level. And it turns out that the kid was a pretty accurate and powerful thrower. Fortunately, it was a soft dodgeball so I could still see out of my eye. As I left the court, I was a little angry but more embarassed and tried to give him props for his hit. I heard one kid say, "Damn, that guy just got NAILED." I like to think somebody else got smacked right after me. I decided it was time to return to ruining my back and leave dodgeball to the youngins.

Why is Notre Dame losing to Syracuse?

Every football season, I am probaby like every other Notre Dame fan and think that we have a shot at a National Title. Even after the worst season in history, there's a small piece of me that thinks miracles can happen during the off season. I almost expect them.

Sitting here, watching my team struggle again against a team that they are supposed to beat, I realize our problem as a program: we expect to win. I mean "we" as a fanbase, and it looks like "we" as a team. 

Gone are the days when we could expect to win a big game--or even a game against a team that is over .500. We are not the powerhouse we used to be. We don't deserve respect from other teams. We don't deserve to be on national television every home game. We are a mediocre team this year, beating up on poor teams; and we've been mediocre every year since 1993. There were  few 9 win and 10 win seasons, including Ty's first year when our defense and special teams carried us and Weis's first two years when Brady carried us over all the teams he should have.

No game today is a given, and it doesn't matter what team you are, but Notre Dame should be especially cognizant of this fact. We can be beaten at any time, as evidenced by Syracuse this year and Navy last year. The question is why?

It's easy to blame the players. They are the ones on the field, looking like they don't belong there. They are the ones blowing passes, catches, blocks, tackles, and coverage. They are usually the primary focus of the expletives I yell at the TV ("Tackle him!"). But blaming them is probably too easy. They are, after all, just kids despite the pressure placed on them by media, alumni, and coaches. And they aren't being paid millions.

Then there's the coach. We can blame Weis because he is an adult. He is given facilities, allowed to recruit great talent, and paid huge sums of money to produce wins. He is the leader, charged with putting players in the right frame of mind and providing a winning game plan. On the flip-side, maybe he doesn't have the talent, yet. But with three top recruiting classes in the last 3 years, I think we can eliminate this possibility. 

Maybe we expect too much from Weis. After all, we play USC and Michgan every year. However, we also play Stanford and Navy every year. Plus, the schedules have not been that tough the last two years. We don't play in the SEC or Big 12, and we have been softening our schedule for awhile. 

So, what should we do? Do we fire Weis? No way. If we weren't paying him so much, I'd say we keep him until his contract runs out. However, we are paying him way too much for not winning. He does deserve a shot though, so I say let him stay as long as his first and maybe second year of recruits are here. If he doesn't win a bowl by then, he should get the boot. He'll have had longer than Ty, but there is no reason in Hell that we should keep him as long as Davies. 

For millions of dollars, we should expect our coach to win; but our coach should never let the players expect a win.